


and the stars up above

by justdoityoufucker



Series: time, love [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Chronic Illness, Developing Relationship, Identity Reveal, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic as a Mind Altering Substance, Mental Health Issues, Secret Identity, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weird Fiction Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-29 00:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdoityoufucker/pseuds/justdoityoufucker
Summary: The smooth maple behind the apartment building has been slowly layering red leaves on his balcony like an organic carpet, covering up the potted pepper plant that Kurenai gave him when he first got out of the hospital.





	and the stars up above

**Author's Note:**

> yes, you do need to read dream't that i was swimming to understand this and yes please scream at me about this in the comments  
> again, im pretty much exclusively on twitter now @shortgoblin  
> (title of this and it's precursor taken from "change of time" by josh ritter)

The smooth maple behind the apartment building has been slowly layering red leaves on his balcony like an organic carpet, covering up the potted pepper plant that Kurenai gave him when he first got out of the hospital. He needs to bring that in for winter, but the fruits are still turning from yellow to bright red and there hasn’t been a frost yet. Kurenai said something about peppers being good for headaches and colds and all those aches and pains Iruka has, and he’s taken that advice to heart mostly because it enables him to eat more spicy foods.

He’s making mabo dofu, which doesn’t technically use any of the peppers from his little plant but counts in his mind. Not having to work as much allows and somewhat forces him to actually make food for all his meals, a sharp learning curve at first (he’d subsisted basically on instant noodles and packaged vegetables, before) but one he’d adapted to with the help of some very simple cookbooks and very understanding grocers. Enough so that he’s not afraid he might accidentally poison himself, though he still hasn’t worked with fish yet so that remains to truly be seen.

_ That smells good _ . Fingertips on the back of his neck zap the words to him with friction-electricity, linger and press into the fine hairs there. If Iruka wasn’t busy at the stove, and wasn’t used to Wolf’s sudden appearances, he might’ve jumped.

“Mm,” Iruka can’t help that he leans into the touch, but that just makes Wolf move closer. Win-win. An arm wraps around his waist and stays there, even as Iruka pulls down two matching rice bowls, never really in the way.

The mask eats for him, as weird as that sounds to Iruka he’s used to it. Without explicit permission from the person in charge of the seals on the mask, he can’t take it off. Probably the Hokage, Iruka muses to himself, half-entranced with the flicker of magic through Wolf’s mask. Comfortable silence covers them as they eat, like a familiar, warm blanket, and the rhythm of cleaning after is an extension of that.

Iruka has papers to grade, but that just means Wolf has an excuse to lay across his lap (a little like his namesake) and generally get in his way while he tries to do actual work. Before long, though, it’s time for Wolf to leave, notified by some internal clock or private notification. He pauses before going out the window, takes Iruka’s hand.

_ I’ll see you soon _ , Wolf lets the words jump to Iruka, fingers feather-light against his wrist, tracking his pulse.

“Yeah,” Iruka holds his head up so Wolf will nuzzle him--their typical goodbye. Wolf stays a few moments longer than usual, as if he’s breathing Iruka in, the nose of his mask and Iruka’s nose bumping.

One last brush of his fingers, sending a fuzzy, warm feeling down Iruka’s arm to his chest, and Wolf is gone. Iruka curls his fingers, touches them to his chest, to that warmth, and can’t help a small smile.

-

The weather is beginning to crisp, with frost and fog obscuring the mornings in a haze that seems like a dream. Iruka prefers the early dark of evening, the rustle of unseen leaves and the sound of the migrating birds flying overhead. He takes his time when walking home from the Academy, wanders a little more than he really needs to.

One evening he’s particularly late, having wandered on a detour to the shops to buy some tea (and having gotten distracted by seasonal dishes, which he definitely does not need), and it’s well on the way toward dinner by the time he opens the door to his apartment. Udon, he’s thinking. It’s simple enough and he has the ingredients.

Oh. He looks up after stepping in, finds that the gentle cloud of familiar magic hovering in his apartment is accompanied by a body. Wolf is stretched on the couch, the throw that had been on the back messily pulled over him. It’s strange for him to be home this time of day.

That’s unusual; he’s sleeping. Iruka can tell by the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way he doesn’t startle or even react as Iruka pulls his boots off and steps into the apartment. It’s an odd thought, that he automatically ascribes ‘shared’ to the space, views the apartment as home for both of them. But Wolf does spend much of his time there, at least when he’s not presumably away doing clandestine things for the Hokage.

He’s tempted to wake him, but knows better. Assassin, his mind reminds him, and he merely settles for twitching some magic, pulling the blanket so to better cover him.

And he makes udon.

-

Wolf is moving strangely. Slow, like he’s fluid or unused to his limbs, without the quiet grace Iruka is used to; then, too, the magic hanging about him is like a dense fog, weighting him. He stays a clear pace away, another strangeness.

But he eats the udon, hesitates before pressing a finger to Iruka’s hand, ever so briefly, before pulling back. In the jumble of information he sends is thankfulness, definitely confused but there.

“Are you--” Iruka begins, but Wolf totters out of the kitchen, and disappears through the window before Iruka can finish with, “--okay?”

-

If he can track down Wolf in the morning, he’ll talk to him. Or take him to the hospital. Iruka lays in bed all night and worries, worries, worries. Itches his hands, the pale skin there. Tells himself he’ll figure it out, in the morning, to calm down and sleep.

_ Worries _ .

-

Wolf is not to be found, despite Iruka spending most of his time right up until school starts trying to do just that. Of course,  _ assassin _ , but that just heaps more anxiety upon the pile of worry and he lets out his class a few minutes early simply because he needs to deal with it all. He just needs to drop his bag off in his apartment and--

\--and, well. The skin of his wrist only hurts for a moment when he pinches it, tells him that he isn’t imagining the same scene he arrived home to the day before. Wolf, laying on the couch. Asleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Iruka stops a couple steps away, next to the coffee table. Breathes, focuses. Taps Wolf with his magic and doesn’t even think about needing to jump away.

It’s instantaneous. He’s laying down, asleep; he’s sitting up, awake, magic crackling around him like a shield. It’s gentle on Iruka’s skin as he steps forward, but he can’t look away from Wolf’s eyes. 

Wide, fixed on him.

“Are you okay?” Iruka asks, reaches his hand out.

Wolf meets him halfway, electricity zapping between them as their hands touch, intertwine.  _ I need to tell you something _ , the words come jumbled, almost overwhelmed by feelings that are too complex for Iruka to parse in the short time they’re connected.

“What?” Iruka asks when Wolf pulls away.

He looks up to meet Iruka’s eyes again, pushes a thumb under the rim of the mask encasing his head. Inhales, audibly. The seals and magics on the mask alight like an alarm. Red, red, red.

“Wait--” Iruka says, but it’s too late.

Wolf exhales. Lightning crackles at his fingertips, fills the room. Blinds them both.

-

A blast of magic isn’t the worst thing that could happen to Iruka’s apartment, but it is by no means the best, especially when it’s mostly electricity. He can deal with it, and the magic isn’t even what he’s worried about, not with the epicenter of it all being Wolf--

The man is unconscious, barely breathing, but other than that a bloody nose seems to be the worst that’s happened to him. The mask is worse for wear, cracked deeply in a spiderweb pattern from the point on the jaw where his hand had been. He’ll be fine. 

(but not all wounds are visible, Iruka reminds himself, hands shaking as he calls a towel from the bathroom with magic, carefully puts a cushion under Wolf’s neck)

He’s already pale enough without the font of burgundy running down his face, the sparse freckles dotting his nose and cheeks a shock to see. Pretty. Delicate cheekbones, long eyelashes. Iruka shakes his head, goes back to wiping up the blood and trying to force the remaining electricity out of the opened windows. At least he isn’t getting zapped everytime he touches Wolf’s face, but the air is charged.

Iruka leaves to get a glass of water and a cloth and returns to find the man he has known as Wolf sitting, eyes wide, only a smear of blood under his nose and his mouth open ever so slightly as he looks around. His eyes find Iruka, and he smiles and the crinkling of his eyes is beautiful beyond words. “Iruka,” he says, a whisper more than anything else.

And Iruka forgets the glass and the cloth and freezes before throwing himself at the other man; they meet halfway, end up half-on the couch, arms wrapped around each other. There is so much he wants to say, wants to ask that it all clogs up in his throat and he feels like he’s actually going to cry.

“Iruka,” Wolf says again, buries his face against Iruka’s neck and inhales, nuzzles, “ _ gods _ .” And his voice is muffled and hoarse, but it’s the most beautiful thing Iruka has ever heard.

Iruka lets out a watery laugh that’s half-sniffle, buries his face in Wolf’s mess of silvery-white hair.

“Kakashi,” Wolf says, pulling back only a little, only so his voice is clear, so his eyes can meet Iruka’s, “Hatake Kakashi. I wanted to--for so long. I’m sorry.” He’s warm, in Iruka’s arms, face rubbing against his oversized, too-soft sweater. 

“For what?” Iruka asks, because the intimacy and closeness was everything he could’ve asked for, the companionship.

“For not being able to do this sooner,” he says, and lifts his face, granting Iruka another breathtaking view of his mismatched eyes, his pale, freckled skin, and leans forward. Their noses press before their lips, and it’s so much contact that it’s intoxicating, so natural a progression that he doesn’t even question it.

Iruka’s eyes slide shut, his hands curl around Kakashi’s face as Kakashi’s fingers interlace behind his neck so he can pull himself up and pull Iruka closer. They breathe each other in, and don’t let go.

The couch is soft against his back, but everything seems soft as they pause, catch their breath. There are too many emotions running through Iruka’s body, so many that it’s nearly overwhelming. Of course. It isn’t a realization so much as a logical conclusion: he loves Wolf, Hatake Kakashi, his shadow. And he is loved in return.

“I love you,” Kakashi says, pressing their foreheads together, “more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

Iruka knows that, and it’s so wondrous a concept he can’t help but let out another half-laugh-half-sniffle, cups Kakashi’s face in his hands. “I love you, too,” he says, and though the response feels inadequate Kakashi seems to melt into him.

“Can I stay?” Kakashi asks, a shy smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

“You can always stay,” Iruka says, and they lean into each other again, humming with warmth and completeness and love.

 


End file.
